


with great power

by henchmin



Category: Haikyuu!!, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, chat noir!oikawa, ladybug!iwaizumi, more characters later - Freeform, oblivious dumb boys, skype tutor squad, subtle sidepairings as we go along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 01:17:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7385194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henchmin/pseuds/henchmin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a ten point scale for difficult life, Hajime is already at 11.1 with a superhero secret identity, volleyball ace duties, one failing class, one irresponsible best friend, and one massive failing crush on said irresponsible best friend/sidekick duo. </p><p>The scale hits an all time high when resident best friend super crush crashes onto Hajime in costume, in bed, while he's on a video call with four big idiots, with four big mouths. </p><p>Or: </p><p>meowthhh: #japanloislane is trending on twitter rn lol my bad </p><p>And Iwaizumi Hajime struggles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with great power

**Author's Note:**

> miraculous ladybug fyi is about a kickass superhero duo that mutually pine for each other through identity crises and mishaps and with the help of friends and family defeat evil :). 
> 
> these guys, however, have no identity crisises and still mess up lol.
> 
> literally postee this at 120 am rip

Hajime likes to think he is a great multi-tasker. So great in fact, that he doesn’t even need to worry about the fact he has the most daunting task of all mankind tomorrow morning in Room 201, in the desk closest to the back window, under the oppressive eye of one Ms. Adams, English teacher and resident soul destroyer. (English exam).

He doesn’t need to worry about that task, because he also doesn’t need to worry about the fact that he and Oikawa need to enter Ladybug and Chat Noir tonight because it’s honestly been too long without any petty criminal activity and that sadly warranted investigating into where local villain Hawk Moth was at. (Saving the day).

He can’t worry about these tasks because he’s also too busy not worrying about making sure every volleyball practice is spent wisely, where each member needed to be so sore by the end of practice they didn’t have energy to wonder if they were even going to make it to nationals this year. (Kick everyone’s ass into shape).

And last but not least: try not to expose himself to his best friend Oikawa Tooru that he has a massive crush on him, has had one since before they become inseparable partners on the battlefield, before Oikawa had first glanced at his embarrassing Ladybug attire and _seen_ through it right away, smirking with a knowing heat in his gaze.

“Well, well, well,” Chat Noir had said (and of course Hajime had seen right through the leather suit and tail _right away_ , not to say he had pictured Oikawa in something like that hundreds of times), “if it isn’t our resident vice cap, come to swoop me off my feet and save the day.”

He then proceeded to deliver a roundhouse kick to Thug Number 1, knocking him into Thug Number 2, and then flipped back to land on top of a water tank, perched like a cat with unnerving bright eyes. Hajime remembered the moon had shown eerily behind him, like a beacon.

“Is _this_ why you always have big bags under your eyes?” Ladybug had muttered, before quickly pulling out his _yoyo_ (of all things) to wrap up the petty thieves that had been trying to escape with a stolen purse through the rooftops.

Oikawa sounded amused when he answered. “Hey, Iwa-chan, you should be lucky I have such ‘big bags’, it gives the rest of you average looking a little more chance.”

They had fallen into easy, comfortable banter after that, and Ladybug certainly did not feel a certain heat staring at Chat Noir with his tight black leather suit, and certainly did not blush when the other boy mentioned the complimenting, if very inconspicuous, suit of his own.

Anyways.

Hajime likes to think he is a great multi-tasker because otherwise he will die and descend into hell. A hell with no leather suits, no volleyballs, and a whole lot of infinitives and compound sentences.   

“Mr.Iwaizumi,” Ms. Adams says, and Hajime starts from his roaming thoughts. His hand slips off where his face was resting on it to smack loudly against his desk. 

“Huh,” he says, intelligently.

Ms. Adams seems to glare at him for a good solid five minutes. Finally, “After class.”

This garners a round of sympathetic looks from all of his fellow English classmates, and an especially pitiful one from a familiar first year. Though he can’t quite point out why he’s so familiar.

After the English professor resumes her lecture, standing up to smack her ruler against the chalkboard, the first year who’s sitting diagonally behind him leans over.  


“Senpai, do you want me to go ahead and tell the coach that you’re going to be really late?” the boy whispers into his ear, and ah, that’s why he’s so familiar.

“Yeah, that’d be great, um,” Hajime says (“Takao!” the boy mutters enthusiastically for the gap), “Takao-kun. Thanks.”

The boy beams, and Hajime grins back before turning to face a ruler straight in his face.  


“Page 345, paragraph two, if you please, Mr.Iwaizumi.”

Hajime looks down from Ms. Adams’ bony hands to the largest paragraph he’s ever seen, stock full of vocabulary that he failed to memorize because he lost his vocab book while swinging through Tokyo weeks ago.

Hell.

“Listen, Iwaizumi-kun,” Ms. Adams says after class, looking across her desk with steepled fingers to where Hajime is fidgeting. “You don’t know basic vocabulary we’ve been covering for weeks, you barely manage to get half right on pop quizzes, and you’re always dozing off in class.”

Hajime flinches with every statement.

“You’re going to fail,” the woman says simply.

Hajime tries to think of something to say, to explain, to justify, but every excuse dies in his throat. He can’t really explain how he lost his vocab book, nor why he’s always falling asleep in her class. Damn secret identities. (But mostly: he just really really sucks at English.)

“Is this because of volleyball?” the elder woman sighs, and Hajime startles.

“Uh, no,” Hajime admits, “not really. Um, I just really really am not good. At English. At all.”

Ms. Adams hmss and haaaas at that, before finally pulling out her purse to rummage through. She finally pulls out a very haggard, wrinkly old paper and straightens it out with her ruler. She flattens and pushes it across the desk to his eyes.

It’s half ripped, so all he sees is a line with four messy scrawled numbers, the other half containing the names conveniently gone.

“These students,” the woman explains, “are from the other English classes I teach across the districts. I assume you know I’m not a professor only at this school, since there’s only two classes.” (Cause you guys suck, Hajime feels like shes saying.)

“They’ve all signed up for an extra credit opportunity I’m offering to help struggling students in my classes pass their English exams. It’s like a free tutoring session. Although, no one’s really needed help till now.”

Hajime sucksss.

Ms. Adams finally gives him a confident, warm smile (the very first of the year!) and tells him she believes in him to take action for his own destined future, and to make sure he passes the English exam tomorrow or he’s dead.

Been dead, he thinks.

\--

XXX-XXXX, and 3 others

_Hey. This is Iwaizumi Hajime. I’m from Ms. Adam’s English 3/4 class in Aoba Johsai and she said you guys could really help me with my English exam tomorrow, because I have 100 percent fail rate, and if I don’t get this my future is expired. Thank you so much. Any help is appreciated._

**_new phone who dis_ **

**** **boi**

_What_

**_wuz good_ **

****

**chill lmao**

_Look if you guys don’t wanna help that’s fine. Sorry for bothering???_

**_BOI HE BOUT TO DO IT_ **

**bokuto shut up you’re destroying our images as kind mature English senseis**

**hola iwaizumi, coma estas? Me llamo kuro testsurou**

**_aye what kind of English help line is dis kurro tf_ **

_I’m so confused rn lol_

**_HELLO MY NAME IS bokuto and I would love to help you w ur English woes_ ** **_J_ ** **_))_ **

**I’m Kuro. Also here to help u with ur English skillz**

_Okay! Thank you! Um what do you guys suggest, meet up somewhere??_

_Also, am I supposed to know who yall are bc you guys sound really familiar_

**_Da boi wants to know who we are_ **

**Boi**

Remove from Group Chat.

Stop.

Unsubscribe.

Block.

**_damn tsukki, it be like dat. Smh._ **

**this aint no subscription chat, you aint getting removed from this.**

[XXX-XXXX left the converssation.]

**DAMN**

[XXX-XXXX has joined the conversation.]

**_Wut u gon do_ **

Ugh.

_What_

**_Tell you what, let’s all  Skypes cuz I ain’t bout to travel all da way down to Aoba Johsai to meet up. Les do it tonight. Like at 7_ **

**sounds good 2 me. Jus need new boy’s skype**

_iwaaachan42069_

**_LMAOOOOOOOO_ **

**BOIIIIIIIIII**

LOL

Oikawa is predictably nonchalant about the whole skipping out on the superhero routine to study for an exam.

He claps Hajima’s back with a hand, forceful.

“It’s okay, Iwa-chan,” the other boy says, “not everyone can be as well-rounded as me. There’s always something you suck at.”

Hajime moves to swat at his head half-heartedly and Oikawa dances away from it, eyes full of mirth and something else. Tugging down on his lips. (But Hajime doesn’t like to dwell too long on those).

“Hey,” Hajime intones suddenly, “look, stay safe, okay?” His voice lowers to a whisper, careful of any lingering ears. “Don’t know how you’re gonna do without me covering your back.”

Oikawa falters a little. His lips settle back into an indifferent line. Eyebrows curve a little, into a troubled frown. Hajime thinks maybe the other boy is going to go on a long lecture about how the Great King has been patrolling the streets months before Ladybug has, how the concern isn’t necessary, to stop being a mother hen.

Instead:

Oikawa’s eyes travel down and settle somewhere on Hajime’s face.

“Hmm,” the captain hums, and throws the volleyball in his hand hard at the ground where it bounces back up to meet his fingers. “Will do, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime doesn’t have time to reply before the other boy is setting the ball (perfectly, carefully, calculatedly).

Smack right in the palm of Hajime’s hand. The resounding slam of the ball on the opposite court excites the vice-captain like nothing else and judging from the satisfaction breathing in Oikawa’s face, the same goes for the other boy. There is no time in between setting and victory for Hajime to try to examine Oikawa’s strange actions.

“One more!”

\--

The Skype call is its own kind of battlefield. And a very lively one at that.

Hajime eyes hurt.

Displayed across his screen is the most suspicious, dangerous combo of people he’s ever had the misfortune to be in contact with.

“No hablo ingles,” Kuroo is saying. From the vantage angle, it’s clear that he has his laptop perched on top of his stomach while he lounges in bed. His half hooded eyes regard them all lazily, smirk constant. It’s kind of ruined because the position also forces Kuroo into a bad triple chin.

“Oh my god, let the dude watch one Netflix documentary about some Hispanic drug lord and he thinks he’s trilingual,” Bokuto mutters, who’s whipping a towel through his shower wet hair.

“Hey, don’t talk about Pablo Picasso that way,” Kuroo snipes back, brushing some weird cat fur off his chest.

“It’s Pablo _Escobar_ ,” Tsukishima butts in finally, voice saturated with annoyance and _god, why didn’t I block this call._

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto says, “Bruh, I thought you had us on mute. You just sat there staring at your screen.”

“He was watching Land before Time,” Hajime says, and taps his temple for all to see. “We can see the reflection in your glasses man.”

Tsukishima, petty man that he is, mutes them again.

“Anyways,” Akashi says, the one boy Hajime didn’t have the fortune of meeting through obnoxious texting because he had muted the conversation completely. (And because of such a wise decision, had quickly become Hajime’s favorite). “Fukuro is a little ahead of your English class, so I already know what’s going to be on it. You’re going to want to study the vocab from Unit 3, but skip the section about breakfast foods. And the section about snacks.”

“Uh, no food, got it.”

“Yo yo yo, I remember there’s a lot on lunch.”

“There’s lunch,” Akashi concedes to Bokuto.

“Um, look,” Hajime says, a little ashamed and guilty, “I don’t even have the book with me. So I can’t even study that.”

“Don’t worry, little man,” Kuro says, pushing the laptop flat against his chest now as he tapped through his keyboard and touchpad. “This cat’s got you covered.”

No one even comments on how embarrassing that statement is because Kuro simply embodies it so confidently that it’s embarrassing if you didn’t find it normal. But Hajime starts thinking about another certain cat, black leather suit, black ears and all. And his blood starts to boil in a pleasant, embarrassing way.

He wonders if Chat Noir is doing okay. If Oikawa encountered any trouble yet. If he’s needed.

He thanks Kuroo absentedmindely as the other boy had sent a pdf to him through the Skype chat, though it was taking forever to download.

As the conversation settles into a comfortable funny banter between all five of them since Tsukki has graciously returned after unmutation (and Hajime marvels at how welcoming and charming this group of misfits was, and how very coincidentally that they all had ties with volleyball, how difffernt yet similar they were).

Of course, there’s still a very big difference that only one other person in Hajime’s life shares. And that’s Oikawa.

Oikawa, who’s patrolling alone. Oikawa, who hasn’t texted him all night.

Hajime frowns, pulls out his phone.

To: shittykawa

_Hey are you okay? How’s it going_

He doesn’t get a reply for a while. He’s almost in a full blown worry by the time Tsuki has finished going through vocab with him. He’s cycling through the page number assignment Bokuto has given him for proper verb usage when he receives a text back.

From: shittykawa

_Can I call you???_

Hajime doesn’t even have time to text back before his phone’s buzzing, and Hajime quickly mutes his side of the Skype call so he can talk privately.

“Hey,” Hajime says. There’s a muffled sentence through Oikawa’s end though, and he frowns.

“Are you okay?”

A muffled affirmative.

“Where are you?

Another muffled noise. Something like a strong wind passing by.

“Shittykawa. Please tell me I’m wrong and you are not calling me while you are literally trapezing through the city. In the air.”

A very pointed silence. Strong wind literally passing through the phone.

By this point Hajime has paced himself to his bed to flop down on it, fingers carding through his hair in a some kind of stress relief.

“This is like texting and driving. I’m going to hang up now.”

“No! Don’t do that.” This time Hajime can hear the distinct voice. Though it’s distorted and varies in volume and pitch. Still nice though.

Ugh.

“Oikawa, you’re going to drop your phone, and I swear to god, somehow you’re going to pin it on me and I’m gonna have to pay for it and lemem say right now, I’m not going ot pay for one cent.”

Despite outside interference, Hajime can hear Oikawa’s bright exuberant laugh even through the phone and it stills his heart, before rattling it violently. His hands tighten around the phone.

“I’m really gonna hang up now.”

Hajime can’t even go through with his threat before Oikawa hangs up on _him_. He only hears a slight rustle outside before Chat Noir somersaults through the open window, crashes into him on the bed and exclaims,

“Iwa-chaaan, did you miss me? It was so boring and lonely and _boring_ without you.”

Hajime feels like he’s had the breath knocked out of him. Not in a good breathless way because your crush is on top of you, physically, touching you. But because Oikawa is still six feet and more of muscle mass and toned physique and the boy was so fucking heavy going at 100 mph.

“ergh,” he wheezes, with no energy to spare to push Chat Noir off him.

Oikawa smiles into his shoulder blade. And Hajime doesn’t quite know what to make of that.

“Oya.”

“Oya Oya.”

“Oya Oya Oya.”

“Oyaaa.”

Oh my fucking god, Hajime thinks, before he somehow manages to shove Chat Noir off him, scrambling to get to his desk and smash his laptop shut. His papers fly everywhere and Hajime just watches in despair because he’s 120 percent certain he saw a flash through the screen.

Hell.

Iwaizumi stands stiffly and cycles through the five stages of grief before settling into a stage of agony. (He’s certain that his secret identity will be revealed now, because who else would Chat Noir be seeing this late at night, with those words, and that ease).

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa whispers, standing directly behind him now, hand on his shoulder. Hajime notices that he’s shifted out of his transformation, and now there is only a familiar concerned brown gaze staring straight into his own, a mass of wind swept hair that still manages to look good.

Pale, pale skin.

Hajime’s heart is stuck in his throat. He does not have the heart to tell his partner Ladybug might have been compromised. Because what is a superhero without a secret identity?

A vigilante, a compromise. A threat to his family. To his friends. Hajime’s own hand lands on the one that Oikawa has placed on his shoulder. It’s cold.

Oikawa drops his hand and strolls forward to snap his laptop open. It boots up and Hajime sees that the other boys are offline.

The brunette’s eyes are glancing through the list. **cawcawbtch, meowthhhh, Jurassicnchill, Owl101.**

“Who were you talking to?” Oikawa demands, shoulders tense. He sounds very very annoyed. Hajime winces.

“Just some guys Ms. Adams told me could help for studying for English tomorrow. They’re from other schools. Ah, I think we’ve played against some of them in matches before. One of thems from Karasuno.”

If anything, Oikawa’s body tenses even more.

For some reason, Hajime wants to defend them. That they’re good people, who had settled into a three hour video call to help some other random kid with his failing English grade. With this reasoning, he realizes, he doesn’t need to agonize.

“Wait, wait,” Hajime says. “It’s fine.”

He settles back into the edge of his bed, pulling out his phone. The bed dips even more as Oikawa settles next to him, chin digging into his right shoulder as he glances over the phone.

-

To: Kuro, Tsukki, and 2 others

_Hey guys. LOOK Uh could you forget what you just saw? Or like don’t say anything. ANYTHING about it to ANYONE_

**_new phone who dis_ **

**boi**

See what?

:O 

_THIS IS NOT A DRILL KEEP THIS SHIT TO YOURSELF PLSSSS_

**_Aight aigh taight aight aight i won’t say anything now_ **

**yah me too. Now**

Me 2

Literally me lol

_Thanks and ill explain later. Thanks guys_

I don’t need an explanation

**_yah i think it’s p clear wuz going on in dat bed room >,< _ **

**spicy**

_Im gonna mute yall now._

**_peaceeeeee_ **

_Wait what do you mean by “NOW”?????_

_Did you guys do something before??_

_HELLO_

**_Les just say my snapchat story is boomin_ **

**#japanloislane is trending on twitter rn lol my bad**

Yeah I live tweeted for a good five minutes and I think I’m twitter famous now

I literally just finished uploading to Youtube before this text :// 

It’s getting rlly good traffic tho ;)?

_I hope you guys die_

_Delete them now_

The People deserve to know

**naw**

**_nah_ **

no

\--

Hajime passes the English exam with an eighty five percent. It’s the highest he’s gotten all year.

He gains ten thousand new Twitter followers. It’s the highest he’s gotten all year. (Also, the first time he’s logged on all year).

Everyone stares and looks at him in the hallway, and many even greet him. It’s the most Hi’s he’s gotten all year.

With all these highs, Hajime only feels like he’s hit rock bottom. Oikawa hadn’t said anything last night about it, had only glanced at his own Twitter, no doubt rifling through the embarrassing tweets. He hadn’t looked at him when he left abruptly with a “See you tomorrow, Iwa-chan.”

His voice had been pitched strangely.

Hajime understands. He wouldn’t want his superhero identity to be associated romantically with his childhood best friend/partner in fighting either. Especially not if it compromises the Chat Noir fanclub. Especially when he doesn’t even see his best friend that way. (Except he really really does).

Hajime wants to die.

Hajime doesn’t know what to do about the fact that while his secret identity hadn’t been compromised, his status as an average volleyball loving third year has elevated to volleyball loving third year/lois lane to oikawa’s superman. Lover of a superhero. Super Lover.

(UGH).

He also doesn’t understand how the media doesn’t see that he is literally Ladybug, ½ of the superhero duo.

Oikawa, though, seems strangely complacent with the whole thing.

“You know, your attractiveness goes up when you associate with attractive people. You are literally with the hottest guy in Japan. Now your chance with the girls have increased from zero to something!”

“Yeah okay first of all that’s not even true. Second, how the hell am I supposed to get a chance when I’m _in a relationship_ with the hottest guy in Japan.”

“So you think I’m the hottest guy in Japan?”

Hajime slams his book shut to cover for the fact that his face has heated up considerably. Oikawa’s smirk only worsens it. They’re lounging on Oikawa’s bed before nightly patrol. Hajime almost regrets coming over.

“Awh Iwa-chaan, don’t be sad. You didn’t have any chance to begin with. It’s not like you’re missing out on anything, right? Right?”

Hajime ignores him. Ignores how Oikawa keeps whining until he mutters out some kind of confirmation. Ignores how his heart is dropping, dropping, dropping. Ignores the heat of Oikawa’s arm pressing, poring into his right side as he leans against him.

 _Hajime,_ he thinks, _you’re some kind of warped Lois Lane_.

 _Hajime,_ he thinks, _you are so screwed._


End file.
